Auld Lang Syne
by Cerridwen7777
Summary: In which we spy on Sam and Dean's first New Years apart.
1. Chapter 1

**Happy New Year, my friends. This very short piece is just a take on Dean's first holiday season without Sam, after Sam goes off to college. Please let me know what you think, and then head to my blog where I answer all reviews. Thanks to all who have made this a lovely year of writing.**

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The wind howled over the lake like a banshee, screaming through the trees and rattling the windowpanes with each strong gust. Snow swirled in the air, trailing and twirling, catching in little pockets in the crooks of trees and on the windowsill. Dean stared out into the dark, looking at nothing, lost in thought. Far off down the street he could see the bright glow of a country house, strung with what looked like billions of tiny colored lights draped over every tree and banister. He gave his head a little shake, foregoing an eye roll as taking too much effort, and turned from the window to collapse to a seat on the edge of his bed.

Another motel, another room, another New Year. A six-pack of Guinness was chilling in the bathroom sink, and several white cartons of Chinese food sat on the tiny bedside table, smelling of garlic and ginger. Dean reached back and snagged a nugget of honey-garlic chicken, ignoring the chopsticks and using his fingers instead. The leaden feeling in his stomach had nothing to do with hunger, and he tried to pass it off as weariness. Truth of the matter was, he was just plain sad.

Dick Clark's plastic smile was splashed across the TV screen, ever youthful, as he tried not to disappear into his heavy overcoat and hat. Dean made a little noise in the back of his throat and clicked the TV off, watching as the picture shrank to a tiny white spot, which finally blinked into blackness with a staticky pop. A hot shower, then bed, he thought. No point in staying up to ring in another year. They all blended together anyway. He stripped off his t-shirt and chucked it on the pile of dirty clothes in the corner, thinking distractedly that he had better find a Laundromat soon or he'd be forced to wear one of Sam's emo-band shirts.

Sam. Dammit. Dean bit the corner of his mouth to stifle a curse, and kicked off his sneakers with a little more force than necessary, sending one of them caroming off the door with a dull _thunk_. It was all Sam's fault he was stuck here alone on New Years Eve, sitting in a dingy motel room with only the television and perhaps some roaches for company. Stupid Sam, stupid Stanford, stupid New Year.

John was in Florida, chasing down some ghoulie or another, and Dean supposed it was good that he hadn't gone along. John would only spend all his time grousing about how Sam had left them in the lurch, and that the job would be so much easier if only Sam hadn't walked out on them like a selfish sonofabitch. Same song, different day.

Dean sort of wished he could feel the same way. There was a kernel of anger in him, glowing and burning deep down, but it was overpowered by the sheer weight of missing Sam. They had never spent a holiday apart, and the triumvirate of Thanksgiving, Christmas, and now New Years had hit Dean harder than he would have thought. He missed the kid, dammit, and there wasn't much more to it than that.

He poked his arm into the bathroom and plucked a bottle of beer out of the sink, and cracked it open with a comforting snapping hiss. Glancing back out the window at the windblown snow, he raised the bottle slightly in a half-salute.

"Happy New Year, Sammy."


	2. Chapter 2

**Well, it's a New Year, kids. And no, I have no resolutions. But where there is a perspective on Dean, one on Sam is sure to follow, and here it is. Please review.**

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Sam shuffled into the kitchen, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, and grimaced at the sight of the detritus of the party last night. This morning. Whatever. He had the faint pressure of a mild hangover throbbing in his temples, and shoved aside several empty beer bottles to scrabble through a cabinet for some aspirin. The crowd had finally cleared out at around three thirty, stumbling and howling, clapping each other on the back with drunken camaraderie, and Sam had collapsed into the bed with Jess. Together they slept away the early hours of the New Year cuddled in one another's arms.

Sam gulped down two aspirin dry, smacking his mouth at the bitterness, then grabbed a bag of coffee beans from the cupboard. As the coffee grinder growled away and the scent of fresh beans rose to his nostrils, he looked out the kitchen windows at the sun and the leaves on the trees stirring gently in the breeze.

He tried to ignore the nausea gnawing at his stomach, knowing that it was more than an overindulgance of food and alcohol that was twisting at him. He had smiled and laughed his way through the holidays, eating more than he should and trying to forget how much he missed his brother.

Shit, there was just no denying it. Despite his contentment in Palo Alto, despite his happiness at living a normal life, in the back of his mind and heart there was always that niggling sense that something was missing. He had never spent a holiday apart from Dean, whether it was at Bobby's or in a crusty motel room somewhere. Somehow Dean always managed to make the holiday special just by being there. Hell, he gave Sam his first beer when he was thirteen, on New Years Eve, then laughed when Sam puked it up half an hour later. And the year he gave Sam a little beagle puppy christened Bonham, even though John had made them leave it at Bobby's.

Sam surprised himself with a deep sigh, and looked around the kitchen, which held Jess' mark everywhere he looked, from the eyelet curtains to the mismatched yet funky dishes. His cell phone sat on the counter under a greasy napkin, which he plucked away between two fingers. He flipped open the phone and scrolled to Dean's number. But his thumb refused to press the key and he snapped the phone shut, and slid it into his pocket.

He knew he was being stubborn. He and Dean had been thick as thieves their whole life, and Dean had covered for Sam with their dad more times than he could count. But the last time they had seen one another, Dean just stood their while John tore him up and threw him out, exiled him from the family, all for wanting something more in his life than skuzzy motels and diner food. Dean stood there with wide eyes and a thin mouth, and let Sam walk out the door without a word. Neither had he ever called to check on Sam, to see if he was okay, to try and convince him to come home. And Sam wasn't sure he was ready to forgive him for that.

But still…Sam shook his head and smiled a tight little smile. Dean was Dean, and no matter how he tried to deny it, Sam missed him every single day. He lifted a half-empty beer bottle from where he had left it the night before and raised it slightly.

"Happy New Year, Dean."


End file.
